No War Today
by SadaraLochlan
Summary: Optimus Prime wasn't the only one to be resurrected in The Return of Optimus Prime and they both contemplate their past, present, and future.
1. No War Today

Optimus Prime watched in contemplative silence as Galvatron's back retreated from view. The Matrix, now barren, empty, and less heavy was still cradled gently in the Autobot leader's strong hand as his enemy's last words echoed in his thoughts.

_There will be no war today, Optimus Prime. You have earned Galvatron's respect._

Hope fluttered through Prime's spark. Hope that perhaps Galvatron meant to end the war. Hope had always been a conflicting emotion for Optimus Prime. As with faith, it was vital in some quantities just to keep the noble and naturally gentle mech from giving into the dark depths of despair that loomed over him like a dark cloud. But he was reluctant to hope. Getting one's hopes up often paved the road to disappointment. As much as he yearned to believe Galvatron's words, only time would tell if the madness would consume the imposing Decepticon warlord again and he'd return with a vengeance. Still, there was a gravity and sincerity in Galvatron's voice that Prime had only rarely heard in Megatron's. And he seemed stable in a way that Rodimus had mentioned he'd never witnessed in their fearsome enemy; stable in a way that reminded Optimus Prime of Megatron. It was a chilling thought. Out of control, Galvatron often did as much damage to his own troops and plans as the Decepticons did the Autobots. Megatron, in greater possession of self control, hadn't had that problem. Perhaps in curing the hate plague, the Matrix had also rectified whatever malfunction had caused Galvatron's pre-exisiting insanity.

Wearily, Prime handed the Autobot Matrix of Leadership back over to a reluctant Rodimus, though he wasn't sure if perhaps he should hang onto it now that he had been restored to life. He realized Rodimus wasn't particularly keen about carrying the Matrix either, but his reasons were different. Unlike his wild, impulsive, and carefree incarnation as Hot Rod, the Matrix had morphed Rodimus into a more mature, reflective, and ultimately less confident mech. Rodimus was a mech burdened by feelings of guilt regarding his part in Prime's death some years before. He felt undeserving of the Matrix and a poor, lacking substitute for Prime as Autobot leader.

Both Primes had inherited the ancient relic not of their own choosing, but rather the Matrix chose them. Destiny would prove itself not so easily shrugged off.

The Matrix was like a hot potato as Spike or Sparkplug would no doubt call it.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, Prime couldn't imagine anyone else carrying it while he was alive. It wasn't even that he wanted the responsibility. Far from it. Death at Megatron's hands just a few short years before had mercifully relieved Prime of the responsibility of leadership; and he'd enjoyed a brief respite from the seemingly ceaseless, merciless march of war until he'd been wrenched unwillingly back to life by the Quintessons. But even though he no longer wished the responsibility, he couldn't imagine being alive and not having the matrix within his physical sphere of control. He had a need to be the one to protect it with his own chassis.

Peaceful dock worker Orion Pax had been rebuilt as the Autobot's answer to Megatron; and even though he wished the end of such a heavy burden, Prime found it difficult to imagine his life without it.

He and Rodimus would discuss the matter of the Matrix later.

Inwardly, Prime braced himself for the next wave of Decepticon mayhem as he always did.

Anxious to leave the laboratory where he'd been so hastily resurrected and nearly mangled while still trolling the Ancients for information within the Matrix, Prime transformed and led the Autobots away.

It probably would have worked better if he'd let Rodimus leave because Prime honestly had no clue where headquarters was now. He chuckled to himself and considered the possibility that he and Rodimus could co-lead the Autobots and Prime could groom Rodimus more by delegating and guiding.

The idea had merit.

W^^^W^^^W

Arriving at the Decepticon crypt, Galvatron lingered at the entrance, reluctant to key in the access code that not even the lava bath induced madness he'd suffered with the destruction of Unicron could wipe from his memory.

The Decepticon leader stared at the mammoth metal doors that loomed before him. As Galvatron, he had never seen reason to visit the crypt. Consumed with insanity, he hadn't cared. Those housed within the crypt were dead and no longer cared for the living. They could no longer offer Galvatron anything of worth. Why should he visit a dusty collection of dead husks?

He no longer felt like the madman Galvatron, though his outward appearance would still set any fellow Transformer on edge. Even his own Decepticons would appear anxious and tiptoe around their volatile leader in anticipation of the next emotional eruption.

No, he felt more like… Megatron. But how? And why?

_No doubt it has something to do with that accursed Autobot Matrix, but that can wait. First…_

He couldn't deny that he was curious to learn what had seemingly freed him the prison of incoherent thoughts and uncontrollable rages, but he would find no such answers here. The crypt called to him for other reasons and he determined he'd best get on with it.

Reaching up, he tapped in the necessary access code and the tall, heavy doors yawned open before him. Darkness enveloped him as the doors slowly sealed him inside. His optics narrowed in irritation as they adjusted to the lack of light. There were torches along the way, but they hadn't been lit in some time. Had Megatron still been running this outfit, the crypt would never have been allowed to go dark and each marker would have been maintained according to strict standards, bestowing the proper respect each Decepticon was due.

Instead, dust had settled everywhere and on everything, he'd noticed, lighting the torches as he made his way down the stairs and through the main chamber. Flickering shadows came to life, dancing on the walls as he continued on down the corridor. His footsteps were as heavy as his spark and echoed off the walls as he rounded a final corner.

He stopped. Merciful silence greeted him. It had been far too long since last the Decepticon leader had been alone in the company of his own thoughts, free from the inner chaos. There was still disquiet as he took in the dismal surroundings and pondered his future and the future of the Decepticons and the whole bloody war. But the full blown chaos had finally blown passed.

Of course there was inner discord. The Autobot Matrix had apparently restored Megatron's personality within Galvatron's chassis; a mercy so profound that the longtime Decepticon commander found himself compelled to entertain the notion of peace. But emtombed before him was the long dead corpse of his mate slain in the prime of her life by former Autobot leader, Sentinel Prime eons before the Decepticons had ever followed their enemies to Earth.

While her death had not been the catalyst for the re-ignition of the war, it had added fuel to the raging inferno of hatred that propelled Megatron tirelessly through eons of war.

But would he disrespecting her by choosing to end the war? Would it be dishonoring her?

He stared at her marker beseechingly as he lowered himself to the cold floor across from it, nearly willing her to magically reactivate and give him an audio full of what she really thought, whatever that was. He thought he had known her so well, but now, slumped against the wall across from her marker he found it difficult to hear anything in her warm voice. Perhaps it had been too long to hear her as clearly as he wished. Surely she'd have at least a witty barb for him regarding the matter?

Of course only silence responded. It didn't matter. War or peace, she was dead. Only her barren chassis kept him company in the cold, dimly lit crypt. A strange yearning to slide the cover off her tomb and peer in at her corpse tugged at his spark, but he shook it off. That was creepy, even for him. Still, he couldn't help the desire to gaze at her face again or to satisfy the morbid curiosity about the condition of her body. Some held up well for ages. Others deteriorated quickly.

He smirked slightly. Perhaps he hadn't forgotten so easily after all. If she'd realized that he'd entertained the possibility of peeking in at her corpse, she might jokingly refer to him as what the humans referred to as a "peeping Tom" and then wander off with that maddening, knowing smirk of hers.

He missed that; her sense of humor. It could manifest in multiple ways; sarcastic, gallows, self deprecating, dry, and even macabre in the right circumstances.

The mech shook his head forcefully. Abolishing the caste system and establishing equality had been dreams she'd spoken of with a wistful longing. Somehow he'd lost sight of that as the Decepticon leader. Vengeance and the teaching of the Autobots a lesson in the consequences of oppressing others had consumed him completely. The gaping hole in his spark left by his mate's death had never been filled over the years, not with war or with the deaths of his enemies.

That bothered him. A lot. Megatron had always been a mech with a clear vision of the future he wanted for his Decepticons and Cybertron. To sit there now realizing that there had been little real progress in achieving equality or even just satisfying any personal need for revenge for his mate's death was damning. Sure the Decepticons were no longer crushed beneath the bootheels of the likes of Sentinel Prime or forced to fight in the Arena in bloodsports, but the fighting continued. Surely the Autobots had had their fill of the fighting that they'd be willing to negotiate for better lives for everyone on their homeworld now?

Perhaps it was finally time for Megatron to let the past go and make reality the more noble dreams he and his mate had when they were young.


	2. Lost and Found

A month passed with no activity from the Decepticons. It made Optimus Prime wish he could return to his carefree days of Orion Pax for whom "no news was good news" and his life was charmed enough that he could afford to not "look a gift horse in the mouth." Instead, the silence from the Decepticon end of things was deafening in the same way that parents viewed quiet toddlers. They had to be up to something. Even so, the downtime had been more than welcomed.

Still, while the downtime was a double edged sword for Prime, the lull in the war gave the Autobots time to carry out various tasks in Iacon and other areas of Cybertron considered Autobot domain. The tasks were many. Dilapidated structures in need of demolition or repair before they collapsed and someone was mangled or slagged, records stored in ancient computers needed to be salvaged, and any functioning equipment or spare parts gathered for use. That was just for starters.

The female Autobots, often cooped up in hiding in their secret headquarters had been chomping at the bit to scurry out of hiding and help the mechs implode and build things so it was understandable that they groaned audibly when Prime assigned them the records and data gathering. Even Elita One visibly grimaced, but rallied the other females in a grumbling chorus off to their mission.

The grumbling eventually trailed off and silence hung over the group like a dense fog until they crossed a bridge leading into the next structure. Chromia, who had held her tongue in Prime's presence finally felt the dam burst.

"Are you going to talk to your mech, Elita? We survived on our own for four million years while the mechs were all taking a nap on Earth and now that they're back, we can't even help with the physical work. 'The buildings are unsafe. It's too dangerous.' I'm so sick of hearing everything is too dangerous!"

A weary sigh escaped the pink hued leader of the female Autobots. She understood her lieutenant's frustration; shared it even, but Optimus Prime was as stubborn a mech as she had ever encountered. Every decision he made was carefully weighed and one hell of a persuasive argument was needed to change his mind about anything.

"We're all frustrated by it, Chromia," Firestar said from a few steps behind them where she was lagging back with Moonracer. "But there aren't many female Cybertronians left so it's understandable why Prime tries to keep us out of harms way as much as possible."

A derisive snort was Chromia's only response.

"You know, when was the last time anyone saw a female Decepticon?" Moonracer, who had been quiet up to that point, looked curious. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd seen an actual living, functioning female Decepticon. And to her utter shame she was only now realizing it. Had they come to devalue the enemy so much that no notice was taken when an entire group of them had vanished from Cybertron?

The other three stopped and looked at the minty green Moonracer, then at each other with the same realization dawning on their faceplates as well.

"That's an excellent question, Moonracer," Elita murmured quietly.

Chromia nodded. "Can't recall having seen one in ages; not even just out and about minding their own business. Ages ago a few could be found in skirmishes or even battle, but the last time I remember seeing that was long before the Ark blasted off."

"I just thought Megatron ordered them into hiding to protect their numbers, same as how Prime minimizes our exposure and participation so I didn't think much about it," Firestar shrugged. "Females were always outnumbered by the males on both sides to start with, but the war only widened the gap."

Elita continued down the darkened corridor toward their intended destination with Chromia once again at her left and Firestar and Moonracer bringing up the rear. The group fell silent again as they approached a heavy door, obviously fortified against unauthorized entry. Elita, uncertain if she remembered the code, tentatively keyed in a sequence of commands and was rewarded when the door slid back with a groan.

"We haven't been in here in ages," Moonracer whistled. "Why here though? I thought all the computers tapped into the same database? Couldn't we just save information from our computer back at headquarters?"

"Not entirely," Elita responded. "Some records were restricted to databases in specific locations like this one. The strategy was to limit the possibility of Megatron's goons gaining access to it. The information was moved and then the computers temporarily offlined when not needed in order to evade hacking."

Lights blinked into existence as the four of them entered the large operations room.

Elita drew her laser pistol, but held it to her side and then took a few more cautious steps inside, her sharp gaze sweeping the room for signs of anything out of the ordinary. Inwardly, she cursed herself for her paranoia. There was no reason to believe anyone or anything would be lurking about an unused operations room abandoned ages ago. No one could have been expecting their arrival, nor would they have likely found their way in. Still… several million years of ambushes and traps had taught her to enter any building cautiously.

Next to her Chromia looked just as wary, but she was more aggressive and had her weapon out and pointed at any unseen target that might leap from the shadows. She growled in irritation as Moonracer excitedly raced into the room. Moonracer enjoyed exploring new places, even dust covered, dilapidated death traps like this place. Before Elita or Chromia could stop her, Moonracer already had the main computer plugged back into its power source.

"I think I've got it. There it is!" The computer responded sluggishly at first, but within moments was up and running, awaiting commands from the room's occupants.

Chromia exhaled, but returned her weapon to subspace, having detected no threats.

Firestar chuckled and gave Chromia a comforting pat on the shoulder as she passed the blue femme and took a seat at the console to the left of Moonracer.

Elita nodded at her two seated subordinates. "If you two can manage the data transfers, Chromia and I have another mission to accomplish near her. With any luck, it won't take long and we won't be far."

"Radio if you need us!" Moonracer called cheerfully. She took a few moments to familiarize herself with the old school consoles and then set about her task.

"Will do, Moonracer. Keep your guard up. This way, Chromia."

Elita started off down a different corridor leading away from the operations room in a different direction. Cybertronian buildings tended to be labyrinthine, with numerous corridors and hidden passageways and rooms. She couldn't remember if that was a byproduct of the war or if the Autobots had always apparently hidden things. The thought made Elita shudder as she realized that neither she nor Optimus Prime really knew much in depth about the activities of the earlier Autobot leaders.

"What are we looking for?" Chromia asked.

"A room that Alpha Trion suggested to Optimus that we locate as soon as possible," Elita One responded. "A room that had been used in secret by Sentinel Prime. I accidentally overheard a conversation they had the other day about the lull in activity from the Decepticons and how Galvatron was behaving more Megatron-esque since the Matrix cured the Hate Plague."

Chromia frowned in confusion. "What does an old room of Sentinel's have to do with Galvatron and the Decepticons?"

"I don't know," Elita shook her head. "And Optimus doesn't either. Alpha Trion doesn't specifically know what's in it as he's never seen the room from the inside, but whatever is in there, he apparently thinks could be used in negotiating peace with the Decepticons."

Another right and a left later and Elita came to a stop in front of a narrow, unmarked door. Chromia's look of confusion turned to one of incredulity as she took sight of what the room appeared it would be from the outside.

"It looks like a storage closet."

Elita considered how she was going to gain access to the contents of the room. Alpha Trion had no code. The code was no doubt taken to the grave with Sentinel.

"Think it's booby trapped," Chromia wondered aloud. She imagined she'd probably booby trap a room she didn't intend for anyone to enter, even if they were Autobots.

"I was considering that possibility myself, hence why I haven't tried to bust open the panel and try to hotwire the door into opening. Stand back. Watch me bring the ceiling down on our heads…"

Raising her pistol, Elita One aimed at the keypad and fired on a low setting, just enough to destroy the keypad. The door creaked open just enough for Elita and Chromia to grab the edge and pull and push it open all the way.

As they peered inside, their jaws dropped in shock that grew into horror. Inside was nothing like any storage room they'd ever seen before. The door that typically indicated a storage room was obviously meant to deceive passerby into thinking it was an unimportant room. It wasn't especially big, but it looked more like a mad scientist's laboratory. Various types of equipment were setup around the room along with collections of grayed body parts and the occasional whole husk of some poor bastard. A computer console was set up in the middle of the room.

Chromia was the first to move and retrieving her pistol from subspace once again, made her way into the room cautiously, but quickly. She reached one of the cabinets along the far wall, not sure what she expected to find hoarded away inside, and jerked the door open.

"Dear Primus…," she gasped as she realized what she was looking at. "Elita…"

Elita bounded over to her and glanced at the round object that Chromia held up to her, then hurried to open the other cabinets to confirm her suspicions.

"They're all filled with spark casings," Elita confirmed in disbelief.

"With live sparks inside…," Chromia added, feeling sick to her stomach. "That's ghoulish… Yep, it's a storage room alright and someone cleaned house of what they considered filth."

Elita's optics locked with Chromia's with a solemnity and gravity that Chromia hadn't seen in her leader in some time.

"I need you to stand guard since we busted the lock. I know no one knows we're here, but I still don't want to take any chances of a raid on this place. I need to get Optimus here, stat. I'll be back shortly."

Chromia nodded and saluted crisply, taking a spot just outside the door as Elita hurried back the way they came. Peering back into the eerie room, she wondered whose sparks had been hidden away there for so long. And she wondered what else had been hidden from public knowledge.


End file.
